Devine Comedy
by Zeil
Summary: Based on the movie Hannibal Rising. Possible slash depending on how you look at it, I personally like to see it but hey... If more follows though it definately will be! Hannibal Lecter and Pascal Popil have a brief interlude.
1. Devine Comedy

**A/N: Yes, yes I saw Hannibal Rising. And I loved it, but hey thats me. Only really slash I guess if you wanna take it that way, I certainly do. I also own no right and what not, Thomas Harris does. Cheers. **

**Divine Comedy**

_Of all the worldly passions, lust is the most intense. All other worldly passions seem to follow in its train._

_Buddha_

* * *

His eyes trace over the pictures… Dead men, all of them, whether they draw breath for the moment or not. His eyes roam where his fingers cannot dare too. He fears a paper cut will ensue, that his blood will smudge there, proof that he indeed was present in the others dwelling, though his mind does turn over whether or not the other may smell that he has been here even without the spilt blood.

His index finger stretches out gamely to run across the tops of shelved volumes, spine binding soft beneath his skin.

"Are you wanting something in-depth Inspector?" The accent is thick and rich and reminds him flowing amber.

"Or perhaps a lite read." Inspector Pascal Popil fought the thin lipped smile but it showed anyhow, diminished but notable.

He turned a little to face Hannibal Lecter, finding his mouth up-turned at one corner, parodying a smile, finger still resting in its place.

"I am here on official business-"

"Argh, you seem disappointed inspector, I take it you have found nothing incriminating then?" The pale youth teased, taunted perhaps was the more fitting word, the voice not innocent enough to tease.

"No, but then you seem disappointed, was there something you'd hoped I'd find." Pascal countered smoothly, watching as the smile now curled both sides of his mouth.

"Only the door perhaps." Hannibal moved further into the room.

"Not entirely generous." Pascal dug dully, unsure of why he was lingering now that the boy had returned.

"Nor was it entirely polite of you to enter my room uninvited." Hannibal moved to perch along the edge of his bed, eyes looking too interested in him for Pascal to remain comfortable.

"You seem rather comfortable with such a transgression though Inspector, tell me do you visit the rooms of many young men." Pascal supposes that he should be thankful his mouth isn't hanging open as it wants to, like it wanted to when the other garishly offered him an alibi.

"I don't see any young men in their rooms… or otherwise." He stumbles and it wins him a thick smile.

"Just myself then, how flattering." The voice is light and without contempt, Hannibal's amusement seemingly bottomless.

"This is not a social call." Pascal says awkwardly, trying and failing to regain his footing in the sparring.

"Yes you have already said as much Inspector." He looks desperately to the book shelf for some kind of help and amazingly finds it, a copy of S'il vous plait, right beneath his hand.

"This book is hardly appropriate for someone such as yourself, in fact it is banned in most parts of Europe- It could get you into a fair amount of trouble." Pascal explained pulling the thin volume from the shelf.

"Only if you informed other's of my reading habits." Again his mouth wants to fall open- just a little at the sheer audacity shown.

"In future don't display it so brazenly." Pascal relents, wishing suddenly to leave, quickly, Hannibal Lecter confuses him and he certainly doesn't like it.

He holds out the volume and the other rises to retrieve it, taking his wrist in hand instead.

"Have you ever read it Inspector?"

"Have you?"

"Many times."

"Never." He confesses and wonders why his stomach would ever clench right then. Guilt? For what?

"Shouldn't you know what it is that you are helping to suffocate?"

"It's obscene and subversive."

"And beautiful." For the longest time Pascal had thought Hannibal's eyes brown, dark, maybe even edging in black, but now standing close with muted sunlight reflected in them there are pinpoints of red sparkling in the iris, almost as if flames are dancing inside his eyes. He stares for several moments too long.

"I have other appointments I should be leaving for." He mutters pupils still following the twisting reds.

He makes it out of the room, down the stairs, out and halfway across the courtyard before he realizes that he still had the book in hand.


	2. Blooded Blooms

**A/N: Here we are again, clearly I'm a little obsessed, sorry to all waiting for updates on my other story's they will be along shortly. Also I still own nothing... This is set a shot time after Hannibal gives Popil his statement about Mischa's death.**

**Blooded Blooms**

_From a little spark may burst a flame._

_Dante Alighieri_

* * *

"Black Baccara Roses, my aunt had them sent along in light of my recent accomplishments." It surprises him not in the least to find the Inspector standing once more in the middle of his work space.

"Accomplishments?" The voice holds a slight edge and he smiles because he has secured the reaction he'd hoped for.

"In regards to my scholarship." Hannibal explained moving to tidy the room. Popil stood a moment longer in his office, finger tracing the dark whirl of one of the blooded looking blossoms. Hannibal himself had tested it once, had dripped warm blood onto the cut flowers that Lady Murasaki was so fond of. Unless one was aware of it, (or close enough, with an attentive nose), it was impossible to know, the dark liquid invisible on the velvet petals.

Hannibal paused in his work to watch as Pascal leaned in to inhale the soft, yet heady scent, there was a brief look of enjoyment which slipped back into neutrality, Hannibal finally at peace with deciding to leave these buds untouched. The expression pleased him and he had doubts that the crisp tang of blood would draw the same delighted look from the Inspector.

"I came to return this to you." He says abruptly, seeming to remember where he is, moving out onto the main floor with Hannibal.

"S'il vous plait." Hannibal takes care to brush his fingers over the larger ones of Popil as he retrieves his book.

"Was it to your tastes Inspector?" The cover is warm beneath his hands, the Inspector's abandoned heat- lovely.

"I mistakenly took the book with me last time we met; I had no intentions upon reading it." The voice is tight, strained, the other somehow subdued since Hannibal had given his statement about Mischa.

"I didn't enquire as to your intentions Inspector." Brown eyes meet his own and they look ages too old for the body in which they reside.

"I flicked through it once or twice, I think." If he's not very much mistaken there's a blush warming the honey-skinned cheeks.

"The third paragraph on page 36 is one of my favorites." His stomach feels odd, knotted with anticipation maybe? Not an entirely new feeling, yet rare enough. He pulls the book open and brushes aside the paper until he finds the page he wants.

"Upon reflection perhaps it was I who invited it." His eyes flickered between the book and Popil, clearly visible and shifting restlessly over the top of the opened pages.

"The stilled length of stream where we chose to swim felt glacial and yet the day was warm enough, the sun filtering down through the sparse tree line." Anticipation and- something Hannibal couldn't ignore as he caught sight of Popil's tongue darting out to wet dried lips.

"So I did not have to rest so near him, though as an oversight I did, our shoulders brushing as we laid on thinning grass and studied the browning leaves above. It was he who stretched up, arms reaching out lazily above his head, fingers brushing mine as they dropped gracelessly back to the earth. It could have been an accident, I will never know, but moments later they were twisting in mine and surely, that must have been deliberate. It was not so strange though, mapping his body not so different from touching my own. We were very much alike, mistaken as brothers so often, from that moment on though I was glad we were not. I fear this would have made my mother cry harder." Hannibal snapped the cover closed on the more erotic lines of text and finally took in the flushed face at length.

"Was that one of the pages you- flicked over?" He prodded.

"It may have been- I didn't commit much of it to memory." Popil's voice was unsteady.

"Yes, I suppose there are certainly more- memorable exchanges between the two." Hannibal watched intently for the reaction.

"I'll have to take your word for it and since I have returned your book I should now excuse myself. I have work that needs seeing to." Besides his cheeks flushing darker, the Inspector holds himself together well.

"What do you think of them Inspector?" Hannibal asks of the retreating back, not ready for the conversation to draw to a close.

"Of the- friends?" He stops, turning back to Hannibal.

"The lovers…" Curious how his mouth falls open for just a second every now and then, shock Hannibal can assume.

"As I said I've hardly glanced at it." Popil fences.

"Well of the passage I just read you then. Do you think he should have lain further from his- friend?" Hannibal counters.

"I-" Drawing out the syllable, stalling, thinking, deciding.

"I think it is just a book and hardly one worth discussing." He eventually decides on.

"One that I should not keep on my bookshelf- it is so dull."

"It does have underlying subversive aspects, which have little to do with the- topics you wish to discuss." Hannibal delights in the way he keeps shifting further towards the door and yet still remains where he is.

"An impressive insight into a book you have never given much attention to." Popil says nothing to this, moving to instead rake fingers through neat hair.

"And they say ignorance is bliss." A final dig.

"I should-"

"Goodnight Inspector." Only now does the other, with a small little woeful twist of lips move to leave and Hannibal can't help the odd sense of accomplishment that flowers below his stomach.


	3. Masquerade

**A/N: Hear I am drunk again... Okay not really but god I need one after this, I've created another monster, I've had to beat my bunnies into submission, bloody fuzz-balls. Anyhow, guys I love the reviews I do you are all fantastic, but you make me nervous, anyhow... not much to note, i still own nothing and also I just must say I have used a french phrase beneath and to me it seems really pretentious, but it just didn't sound right otherwise so forgive me.**** Oh and also I forgot to mention when I first posted this... this is set after movie... Hannibal has visited America and has collected his head and has returned to europe... Cheers**

**Masquerade**

_The hottest places in hell are reserved for those who in times of great moral crises maintain their neutrality._

_Dante Alighieri_

* * *

He moved through the party like a ghost might have, though there was no real comparison to be had since as such no actual specters seemed to have merited invitation. Still Pascal was managing; having nothing to copy he made up his own mind on what was entirely ghost-like behavior.

He hung about despondently, floating from one crowded room to the next, always skirting along near the wall, always skirting away from any conversation that might shift to include him.

"Good evening Inspector." Some things of course were seemingly unavoidable. Pascal finds himself unwilling to turn for a moment and when he finally does, he largely wishes he didn't.

"Doctor Lecter-" It has been almost a year since he's seen the other this way, up close, face to face, rather than in grainy newspaper pictures, or across teeming crowds. The effect is dramatic, his pulse quickens, collar feeling tight about his throat.

"Good evening- it is doctor now is it not?" Pascal replies, words carried on a quiet little sigh of breath.

"It is." He says, with a coy smile, eyes downcast, his face the very picture of modesty, Pascal isn't willing to believe it. His aunt currently standing at his elbow, hair swept back, make-up painted on in tasteful tones, her dress almost as silky looking as her hair.

They're a stark contrast to each other tonight, Hannibal's clothing black and angular, stiff, Lady Murasaki's dress falling into delicate white skirts and soft gold lace. Their masks are the same, hers soft and white, slender glossed feathers piled around her eyes. Hannibal's own of course, hard and black. It rested over his cheekbones, his brow, the edges dipping into long spines, which sat snugly along his pale cheeks. In the rooms odd lighting, there are shadows cast beneath the masks missing eyes, hiding Hannibal's own, save for when a stray flicker dances there, highlighting the red of his iris, it doesn't look human.

"I'm going to welcome some old acquiesces of mine." She explains, flashing her own brief smile as she detangles herself from him gracefully; voice soft and sweet, alluring like the fragrance which seems to curl seductively through-out the air around her.

"Inspector." She acknowledges and then departs, disappearing into the crowd, he nods slowly, eyes tracing over the hidden gaze, attention taken by the ruby flashes.

"So Inspector, how has your year been unfolding, fruitfully I hope?" He questions quietly, eyes sparking.

"Yes somewhat, though considering my daily dealings I hardly like to think of anything I do as fruitful." He finds after careful consideration that perhaps it was better to look at the other with people between them. In a year his memory had dulled on just what being close to Hannibal was like.

"You remove dangerous men from society Inspector, I can scarcely think of more amiable pursuit."

"Only sometimes do manage to remove them." A subtle dig because Popil isn't willing to let the conflict go just yet, a smile is all he gets for his trouble.

"Besides in order for me to perform such a service there must first be some atrocity committed, as such I'd personally prefer it if my job where made obsolete."

"A prefect world then- is that it?"

"No, just- one a little less ugly." Every conversation between them turns into a sparring match and it's more tiring then anything else Popil has ever endured.

"Well Doctor Lecter, as enjoyable as your company is, I'd hate to keep you from welcoming your other guests." For a space of about five second Pascal is convinced that it is perhaps the most intelligent thing he has ever done, he extends his hand hoping that the other will take it and then depart.

"Actually Inspector as such I have greeted everyone else-" His wrist is taken in strong fingers, thumb stroking lightly over his fluttering pulse.

"So you are the only guest that I have regrettably neglected thus far, I do apologize and please it is Hannibal, I find we have too much history to be so formal Inspector." If he's waiting for a similar invite, Pascal decides that the doctor can be left disappointed.

"It's quite alright."

"No it most certainly isn't, especially since you are hardly enjoying yourself Inspector." His eyes are dark, bottomless and yet bright at the same time and Pascal finds his graze wondering constantly, about the pale face and down to his clothes.

"But by no fault of yours, unfortunately I am not particularly attracted to parties such as this."

"And yet here you stand." He can practically feel it, slowly little by little he loosing his footing in the argument again. It's not a welcomed feeling.

"May I enquire as to why?" He can't meet the other's eyes at all now, not even for a moment, his stomach twists and he has no answer to give except for the clumsily cobbled together truth.

"I was intrigued by Paris's 'brilliant new physician', 'whose medical insights are being marveled at all across France'. At least I believe there was something close to that in the paper." Worse of course was that the volume of medical discussions paled when compared to how many went on about the boy himself. The idle gossip had even infected his office and shamefully Pascal had found himself eavesdropping on the long strings of prattle more than once, it somehow seemed unavoidable. Everywhere he turned someone was whispering something new.

'_Oh no it's his aunt, not his wife…'_

'_Do you think it's really true, about him being the youngest student to have attended school there?'_

'_Do they really pay him that much?'_

'_That's obscene Justine she must be twice his age… and his aunt.' 'It is true. I heard if from my cousin. Besides she's pretty enough and she's not his real aunt… Why else would she be the lady of his estate.' '…Well then all those proper ladies with their well bred daughters will be disappointed… what surely he won't marry if…' 'Oh Justine don't be daft, he's hansom enough to have a wife and several mistresses.' 'Brigitte! Now that really is wicked...'_

Nothing of the slightest use to him and yet still he couldn't help listening.

"Newspapers- they do love to carry on- and on, as do my colleagues. I fear I may start to disappoint the people I am introduced to."

"I must confess I did expect you to be taller." Pascal says smoothly, tension easing for a moment. There's a dazzling smile from Hannibal, its quick and actual color moves up to stain his cheeks, almost a grin.

"It's getting rather late, I should take my leave." Pascal fumbles suddenly, a tight coil of dread clenching deep in his belly. The eyes glance down him and then back up, he can't see Hannibal's eyes, but he can feel them and Pascal tries not to feel completely bare whilst standing in a heavy suit. Unfortunately he can't help it, he squirms, because he knows the other is trying to piece together the reason for the sudden shift in his mood and Pascal doesn't want him inside his head, doesn't want to start enjoying Hannibal's company, he shouldn't want it. He should be furious that the boy has escaped from a punishment he so richly deserves. Not entirely Lady Murasaki's doing, since any evidence he may have had burnt… and then sunk, though she hadn't exactly helped his cause, refusing to admit that Hannibal was anywhere near the ship and in the end, he hadn't been able to prove otherwise.

"It is very poor form to leave a celebration for the coming year without at least waiting for midnight Inspector." He finally said, casually.

"I have no doubt that the New Year will turn up as promptly as always, whether am here or in my bed."

"I would prefer you here-" He opens mouth to say that it's inappropriate, but it isn't, not entirely, the words are innocent and the voice is respectable, it's the- gaze, it implies things.

"It's also poor form to spend la Saint-Sylvestre alone." Hannibal insists, lips drawn up into a smug pout, because he's winning, getting his way and they both know it.

"And you are everything that is proper." It's almost akin to stomping his foot and crossing his arms over his chest, which he is decades too old for, but right now Pascal doesn't care.

"It's passed 11 Inspector, have a glass of wine with me, my aunt seems to have abandoned me completely, we can celebrate together." A silver tray, filled with expensive crystal appears from out of thin air and Pascal starts lightly, Hannibal moves to offer him the bloom of a sparkling glass.

"I am not terribly fond of white wine." The glass was set back on the tray without pause.

"Well then perhaps there's a bottle of red that I could tempt you with." He is tempted- to deny vehemently that he drinks wine at all, almost does, stopping to wonder if the other won't then insist on serving him hot chocolate. He gives a slight nod, which he isn't entirely sure he meant to and knows he definitely didn't want to.

"Wonderful." The fingers about his wrist tighten a little and Pascal finally realizes that they didn't ever actually leave, which means the other has practically been holding his hand for- how long now? Pascal lets the slender figure lead him across the crowd, wondering vaguely if it's too late to run for the door.

Pascal fully expects to be brought to some stuffy sitting room as the other leads him away from the main room and the guests and down a slender hall. He's surprised then when his hand is released from the warm grasp, wrist itching in protest, Hannibal pushing open the door on a bustling kitchen, a pair of servers filing passed them on their way in.

There were large windows pulled open on the falling snow, cooling what otherwise would have been a humid space. There were few people, gathered here and there, food preparations obviously winding down for the night, Hannibal leading him down to a quiet corner at the back of the room, near basins of melting snow holding chilled bottles of wine. He freed one from the slush, setting it before Pascal on a bare length of countertop, a pair of glasses chiming gently as they were placed beside it. Pascal relaxes a little as the demonic looking mask is relinquished as well, looking less sinister now that it is without a host.

"Anything you would wish to toast to Inspector?" Hannibal asks, as the bottle is uncorked and lifted to fill each glass.

"Not especially." Pascal says shortly, the stem cool beneath his fingertips as he lifts the glass to his lips, letting the wine pool there for a moment without opening his mouth. He sets the glass back on the polished marble, tongue darting out absently to lap at his damp lips.

"You're a very odd man Inspector." How though the other never elaborates on and Pascal doesn't feel particularly inclined to ask, watching as Hannibal lifts his own cup, relieved when he doesn't follow popular trends with idiotic sniffing and swirling and gargling, which Pascal finds atrocious. He twists the stem slowly between his fingers, nose hovering above rim, no ridiculously large drags of air, just a few seconds of quiet even breaths, eyes drooping lazily. His lips curve minutely as he tilts the glass up to lips, hip resting against the counter.

The glass drops away from his mouth slowly, rim resting idly against his lower lip for a moment, considering, his mouth looks fuller, stained a darker shade by the wine.

There's nothing remotely revolting about the display and yet Pascal is discomforted anyhow, and reaches for his own cup, letting sharp taste pour over his tongue his time, down his throat, draining almost the entire glass. Hannibal's watching him by the time he lowers his glass, lips hitched lightly into what would be an attractive smile if Pascal hadn't spent months looking over body's he mangled. He's waiting for the subtle and yet not subtle taunt, that seems almost to be routine, only this time it doesn't come.

"It's from a small villa just outside of Paris." It's so unexpected that Pascal can't think of what Hannibal is referring to until he continues.

"My aunt and I shared a bottle the day we met." It becomes clear the topic they are on and Pascal actually winces, at the soft look of the other faces. _Why does someone capable- why does he have to look so young._ It's a stray thought and Pascal drowns it with however much wine is left in his glass. Hannibal's taped statement coming to mind, every word etched into his memory and why wouldn't it be, he'd replayed the recording over and over, stopping only when it began to feel almost voyeuristic, when he had started to relive the moments over in fragmented dreams. He reached instinctively for the bottle, the scarlet liquid swirling down into his glass before he realizes how rude a move it was. Delicate fingers close over his.

"Help yourself Inspector, its pleasant to watch you enjoy yourself." Warm hand cupping his and he watches in a daze as his glass is filled again.

"That's very kind of you Doctor." His says voice thick and strained, the bottle discarded and yet the fingers still remain, tangling with his.

"Hannibal- please?" His eyes dart up along the room, relieved to find it emptied of people, the last of the trays gone with them.

"No." Pascal say shortly, eyes betraying him and dipping to plump lips.

"Why ever not Inspector?" There's an easy smile as Hannibal shifts close, chest to chest and he's not so much shorter than Pascal himself, an inch perhaps- not really so much a boy at all- except for the damn angelic face.

"This is dangerous." It's a naïve, fumbling, ridiculously simplistic observation and Pascal has no clue as to why he'd ever voice it. Hannibal seems to over look its short comings though and smirks almost sweetly, if such an expression is even possible.

"Is it Inspector and what is this exactly, may I ask." He licks dry lips and says nothing.

"Are you dangerous Inspector, should I worry-" A hand tracks up lightly over his lapel and Pascal grabs its wrist.

"About my virtue."

"Please stop talking." Pascal grits out, wondering which event it is that has led to this moment, to him being molested in a kitchen. Hannibal shrugs carelessly.

"My mouth is bored."

"And you want me to entertain it." Another smile that is actually almost charming, would be if the circumstances were different.

"Why not."


	4. Sweetening Sedition

**A/N: Thankyou to all of my lovely reviewers... Here we have come to the end of our journey together... snicker... sorry always wanted to say that, well write. Anyhow this is actually the last part to this, so enjoy.**

**Sweetening Sedition**

_Heaven wheels above you, displaying to you her eternal glories, and still your eyes are on the ground._

_Dante Alighieri_

* * *

The mouth curves deliciously around the words, lips lush and stained, not so different from their usual shading, deep and rich, sweet looking and Pascal question whether it would really be so bad to kiss them- just once. His eyes flick over the deceptively kind-looking face, noting the pleased glow that the pale skin now has, those eyes seeming so much brighter.

"I promise not to bite Inspector." The voice is light, teasing in its lilt and yet perhaps it is something that Pascal should make him promise seriously, all things considered.

Pascal bites his own lip, his breath coming in tight painful pants, body so completely at ease with what it wants, so ready, so against his mind which is a myriad of conflicting thoughts, duty clashing with desire and Pascal's not entirely sure what one he wants to win out.

"I can't." He breathes mournfully, trying desperately to explain everything with the simple sentence and a pleading look, hoping that Hannibal will understand. Apparently, though it is not as hard to accomplish as he thought, Hannibal tilts his head back a little more, his mouth lifting, and his eyelids drooping. It's a sensual, casual, lazy look that clearly says he doesn't care about the Inspectors moral predicaments and that if he insists upon having such flimsy ethics in the first place perhaps it's his own fault anyhow.

"It's remarkably simple Inspector-" Again the voice implies- promises everything... give in, give up, give yourself over… and that's the end of the struggle, no more confliction. Peace and in this case, pleasure, an extra persuasion, which leads Pascal to believe that perhaps this is punishment for not going to church as often as he should.

"I'll lead-" The hands slip from his grasp and whether it is because his grip has slackened or he didn't really have Hannibal in the first place, he doesn't know. The hands link up behind his neck, arms resting light and warm against his shoulders.

"And I follow-" It almost carries the same weight as a death sentence and Pascal winces as his hands drop down to rest against the slender hips, his entire body taut with tension as he makes himself accompli to the act.

Pascal closes his eyes trying to calm the wild fluttering of his heart. There's the soft brush of wine scented breath against his cheeks, warm and yet cool compared to the hot flush that has already blossomed there. A nose slides gently along his own, hair tickling against his cheeks and he parts his mouth slightly, anticipation coiling tight in his stomach.

"So beautiful…" Is whispered against his mouth, soft lips whispering over his own. The Kitchen door opens and then swings shut with a dull weighted thud, the rhythmic clicking of heels coming in its wake and Pascal stumbles back from the embrace clumsily with a sharp inhale, which to his credit isn't quite a gasp.

"Hannibal-" The voice stops with the heels and Lady Murasaki's standing staring blankly at them both.

"Hannibal, one of Medical Professors has incited quite a crowd. They are quite adamant that you should speak to them about your sketches and principal findings on the hearts atriums." She says evenly.

"Of course my Lady, my apologies for abandoning you." Hannibal says fixing the heavy mask back into place, speaking as though everything is as it should be, as though he is forever the proper gentlemen and Pascal finds the rapid shift and flippancy dizzying.

"Inspector I-" Pascal holds up his hand, feeling a wave of sickening misery rise up in his stomach.

"I need some air." He mutters shaking his head, stumbling to the kitchens side door.

-.-.-

"Hannibal." Lady Murasaki cautions gently, his speech has been given, guests with medical leanings now efficiently subdued, chattering quietly amongst themselves.

"I promised the Inspector I would keep his company." Hannibal explains, pausing at her side, she shivers a little against him, though on this particular occasion he believes it has to do with the cold draughts drifting in from off the snow, wide French doors hanging open before them, the yellow light from the room settles in a bright rectangle on the blanketed ground.

"Yes so I've seen." She says, the sad edge in her voice too pronounced for the tone to be truly accusing. Hannibal thinks of it more as contrite, though cannot fathom what the Lady would have to be remorseful for.

"You do not approve."

"It is not my place to approve or disapprove… I am afraid." He smiles lightly and strokes her angular cheek lovingly.

"He will not hurt me." A delicate hand closed over the length of his wrist.

"I am not afraid for you."

"I will not hurt him." He reassures.

"Then leave him be Hannibal." She pleads.

"The Inspector enjoys our time together and I find that I cannot deny him anything he- wants… my Lady." She winces in disgust or resignation at his tone- he cannot tell which with absolute certainty, he takes the hand from around his arm and kisses his knuckles lightly before letting it drop back to her side, trying to soothe her ruffled sensibilities before leaving her to the celebration.

-.-.-

It doesn't surprise Hannibal in the least to find the Inspector leaned against one of the slender stone pillars inside the arbor, the smooth rock now over run with rambling roses, the blooms thick against the green of leaves and grey of stone. They spread up from several different gardens, vines reaching together over the arches, winding into tight, twisted ropes, adding support as they each start their way across the roof, Hannibal won't be surprised to find it completely covered by next Summer.

The roses themselves seemed something of a marvel, growing better now in the midst of winter than they ever had during spring or summer. It perhaps had more do with his aunt though, than the plants themselves. She had selected the once fragile looking bushes, had seen to the planting and where as she had been quite happy to leave the summer care of them to the gardener she now kept a tight rein over what befell the delicate looking buds. A foul smelling, warm green liquid was poured over their bases each morning after the thin layer of banked up snow had been cleared away and warm embers were kept burning inside the arbors curiously shaped hearth, staving off the worst of the cold.

Hannibal could understand the theory behind the actions, just as he understood what children hoped to accomplish when they jumped from short heights flapping their arms wildly. However, just as surely as those children came crashing to earth the blooms should also have frozen and perished, fire warming the arbor stone or not. He was beginning to believe that they might subsist on Lady Murasaki's will alone.

Hannibal brushed aside a large, fragrant blossom as he passes under the arch, petals a little stiff beneath his fingers, the arbor cooler than usual, its gentle blaze having been neglected in favor of the party. The embers still cast an orange glow, adequate light to see by, but only just, the hearth cool enough to lean against, and Hannibal does just that. He stretches his arms up over the warm structure, which sits on a stumpy pedestal, with the fire-resting low in its stone belly, a peculiar egg-shape, with large curving slits opening up the top of its hallowed out form. He rests his face against his hands and stares at the Inspector, who's leaned against a scarce bit of bare wall, rose buds twined above his head.

"What do you want with me." He says quietly after a beat, voice a little rougher than usual.

"What answer would you like Inspector." Hannibal asks voice calm and lazy.

"A truthful one." There's a decent bit of space between them and yet Pascal moves to increase it, pushes off the wall and goes to stand at the other side of the burnt out fire.

"Truthful? The truth is very open to interpretation Inspector. I could say that I want the pleasure of your company, or some intelligent conversation, or I could just as easily say that want to lay you down right here in the snow…" His voice is even and polite.

"And fuck you- until you scream." Voice still sweet and conversational, which makes the words sound all the more obscene.

"You see, all of those sentences have equal amounts of truth to them… and yet they are very different in- context." He explains.

"In pleasure or pain?" Pascal questions before considering the encouragement in the sentence, the provoking quality of the words… he is not entirely sure why he would ever ask such a thing. Hannibal arches a brow as if to say 'no weak, (this is inappropriate) protests?'

"You're teasing me Inspector." He drawls pushing away from the hot stone, stalking towards Pascal, there is plenty of open space to back up into, and yet Pascal finds the warm arch of stone against his back in seconds, Hannibal's arms braced around him. He has to wonder if Hannibal isn't right, if the only reason he's in this nightmare is because he wants to be.

"One has to know what to expect when- they're going to be fucked." Pascal's voice doesn't waver through the obscenity and Hannibal's eyes glitter because of it.

"I would never hurt you Inspector… unless you asked." An illicit shiver tracks up Pascal's spine, as they both pause for a moment, assessing.

"I still want my kiss Inspector." Hannibal finally demands, as though it is something owed to him. Pascal stares at him for long moments, looking uncertain. Hannibal leaning further up into him, noting that the other doesn't move back, doesn't flinch as Hannibal lips hovering before his, because he wants it, wants Hannibal to kiss him. Unfortunately, their wants don't seem to mesh, Hannibal wants the Inspector to kiss him and he's not willing to make any exceptions or except any less at this point.

"Your eyes are forever going to be in the dirt Inspector." He spits and watches the taller man flinch at the harsh tone. Hannibal twists away sharply, not particularly angry at all, his patience is lengthy even with the most tedious of people, and Pascal is anything but boring. The Inspector however needs a well-placed push.

"Wait." Hannibal barely manages two steps before the strained voice reaches his ears. He keeps his back to Pascal, feeling the tiniest of thrills when the weight of a hand falls on his shoulder and hip and Hannibal lets the other turn him around, hand sliding to rest at the opposite hip, the other reaching up to pull the mask free of his face. He tosses it aside carelessly, his fingers moving up further to track through Hannibal's neatly combed hair, brushing it into disarray so that locks hang about his face.

"I stopped on the pretence that I was going to be kissed Inspector- not petted like some fretful kitten." Hannibal taunts, finding the caress enjoyable and yet hardly the point.

"You're manipulating me." He points out, voice thick and Hannibal manages to keep his expression neutral, though in future he must remember that the Inspector is far more perceptive than he ever lets on.

"Such concentration Inspector… an stalling- are you so out of practice?" Hannibal teases, dodging the accusation and Pascal nods absently in agreement and then move to shake his head as well.

"I was just… lovers kiss on the mouth, friends and family- the cheek- where does one kiss a man that they're trying to imprison." Hannibal wonders if the subtle dig in the sentence was accidental.

"You shall have to be very bold Inspector and start your own trend." He teases deciding to let the taunt pass unmarked. Pascal stalls a moment longer; eyes tracking over Hannibal's face wildly. Hannibal's about to comment once more when Pascal suddenly leans forward, hand moving to cup Hannibal's face while his mouth dips to press quickly over each of his eyelids. Hannibal can feel Pascal's frantic breaths buffet his face.

"Your eyes are beautiful." He mutters and Hannibal can only imagine his desperate expression since his eyes are still closed from the gentle caressing.

On the quiet air, soft chimes drift out from the house and the volume of noise inside increases a notch or two as people hurry to the front of the house and then outside to catch the fireworks Hannibal has arranged. There's a faint burnt smell before sparks of green crackle across the sky moments later, illuminating the night with neon bursts of color, rippling the still the air with dry pops, and dull hisses.

The warm hand dropped from Hannibal's face, falling down to his hip, fingers splaying wide over his lower back, the other hand mirroring the action. There's a quiet moan from Pascal as their lips finally meet and Hannibal's arms slip back over broad shoulders as he is pulled tight against a hard chest, kiss deepening as their mouths part and a hot tongue slides over Hannibal's own, tasting of wine and mint. Hannibal drags his teeth over the soft muscle, amused when Pascal doesn't shy away, rather he holds Hannibal tighter and thrusts deeper.

They part as the last sparkle dies on the obsidian sky, stars twinkling again in its wake, their cheeks flushed in hot shades of red, with panted gasps of breath staining the air in moist bursts. The Inspector takes a step back and Hannibal catches Pascal's almost idiotic grin as the light settles back into the warm yellow glow of the almost spent embers. The Inspector purses his lips and then smiles again and it's almost infectious.

"It is the first of a new year; I guess that means this is goodnight then Doctor." There's still caution in the voice, doubts clearly written on this face and yet Hannibal finds smug satisfaction that the number is significantly less than their previous meetings.

"Yes- Or I could escort you to my room."

"Your room?" There's the slightest tint of amusement to the slightly apprehensive voice and in truth Pascal is taking the offer with less offense than Hannibal had expected. He didn't actually believe the other would except or even consider anything of the sort, but he has yet to choke on his own tongue and that is promising.

"Yes I found knew bedding in Paris recently- it really feels quite exquisite." Hannibal teases and tests. Pascal stares at him for a long moment then drops his eyes and shakes his head, arms crossing over his chest.

"To your room, to feel your- bedding… after being disheveled in your courtyard- you're shameless." The tone is warm and is more amused than alarmed.

"Yes." Hannibal admits.

"But- to be entirely fair Inspector-" He brushes hair from his face to highlight a point.

"You disheveled me more than I you." He smirks as he other moves to stare at the ground again for long seconds.

"I cannot join you tonight." The self-satisfied expression slips a little from Hannibal face, the Inspector fidgets, nervous once more and if Hannibal is not very much mistaken in the dimming light, he is blushing quite violently as well. It all gives more weight, an underlying vein of truth to the tense words.

"I have a very early appointment tomorrow and it cannot be missed… I would make for a poor guest and I would have to leave very early and… I do not think I would want to." Hannibal stood where he was; he knew how much the confession would have cost such a guarded person.

"Until next time then Inspector." He said kindly, pressing for nothing further.

"Yes." Pascal nodded, pausing for a second as though unsure of what exactly to do.

"Goodnight." He settled for finally and turned abruptly, heading back to the lighted house.


End file.
